


State of the Art - A Doctor Who Spin-Off

by ricoaken



Series: State of the Art [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Art, Friendship, Gallifrey, Spin-Off, Time Travel, War, doctor who spinoff - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 08:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11733423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricoaken/pseuds/ricoaken
Summary: An old curator finds himself having to deal with a battle between Daleks and Time Lords. For him, living has always been about art, but now his life depends on how fast his legs can run.





	1. State of the art.

**Author's Note:**

> I try to put a little bit of music into every chapter, to make it more fun. Try and type the title of each chapter on yt and get yourself a playlist to set the mood of the story. :)

Whenever he sat alone, looking at his favorite painting, the curator felt like he was the loneliest man in his planet. In a good day, he would receive about six smiles. In a normal day those were about two or three. In most days, none. Of course it was his choice to be the curator. He always fancied art, and liked to think that one day a magical brush would meet him and give in the power to make the art he so much enjoyed to look at.  
But that was rubbish. One day a gun came to his hand. One of the big ones, which need both arms to be held properly. At first he didn’t understand: why would a curator need a gun? And one old as he was! The last time he checked, his hair was white and so was his beard, giving him kind of a sad look along with the wrinkled face so why him? He was no soldier. He was an old man that no one knew and no one was interested in. Two years passed and he received not one gun, but three guards on the outside of the museum’s door and three that were meant to secure a time ship. Of course the six of them were needed to handle the ship, but as Commander Eoropa said: “Art was not a priority in those days”.  
Twenty-six years passed until he finally understood what the gun was doing in his hands. That is when one of those horrifying tin-monsters came along to his museum in the first place. About three of four, shouting in that mechanic devilish voice of theirs, calling for destruction and murder. “DEATH TO THE TIME LORDS!” they shouted, as Eoropa and her crew took them without excitation, without that much of a fuss. “What were those things?” He asked, terrified, the gun trembling with the shaking of his weak old hands. “Those things are our enemy, that’s all you need to know.” said the Commander.  
Another fifty years went by, and although the public of the museum had considerably shortened, it was nice to have the company of the crew. Cewal was one big talker. The curator rather enjoyed his company even though his intellect was not one of the brightest. His interest in the forms of art held on the museum made the curator explain many things to him, and it was thirty years until he realized he finally had friends. The six members of the crew respected him very much, and thought of him as a wise man, with many things to tell. Although he appeared so, he was not that old, maybe even not as old as Eoropa, but that wasn’t something they needed to know. At night, they would all come down to the door and light a little campfire, looking up at the incredible constellations of their home planet. Eventual explosions, made them take aim to the front and in formation guard the front door of the museum, but they rarely saw the enemy around those parts.  
He once asked his now friend-commander about that war, and she did not know much about it, but tried to explain what she knew. Daleks they were, creatures bred for evil, only to hate and kill and conquer. She did not know what started the war, and was sad to say she wanted to be on the front lines along with the crew. Soldiers had the most insane ideas, he thought to himself. But not Eoropa: she wanted to be important, remembered in days to come. As they looked at the most beautiful dimensionally transcendental paintings in the long and tall halls of the museum they were silent most of the time, knowing only that war was now imminent. 

One day when morning had just begun and the bright orange skies of Gallifrey shone upon the golden walls of the museum, the curator woke up tired, looking at his hands and whispering to himself: “One of these days you’re gonna go, old man…” After putting on his red robe and walking down the stairs to the main hall, he heard a loud thud coming from the front of the museum. A dozen or so other time lords, dressed in strange hard-shell red helmets and long white capes arose from inside an old time ship. Eoropa and her crew were all aligned right outside the front door, saluting the recent arrived crew. “You’re not from our time, sir. Your uniforms show us so and your time ship is of an antique model, sir.” She said. “We come from the past, commander. I believe you are Eoropa.” Said the man that appeared as the hard silver shell he wore in his chest, to be the commander of that fleet. “We have been sent from the past, to retrieve the various art contained in this museum. We are ordered to take it outside of Gallifrey, to hide it in long ago.”  
When hearing this, a sudden burst of energy struck the curator’s body and sent his legs shaking straight to the front door. Not noticing he was not wearing his cap nor his decorative headdress, his mouth was faster than his legs when shouting “Excuse me! Taking it where?” in a rather rude tone. The commander of the recently arrived crew looked at the old man with a calm look, but boldly replied. “That is not your concern, curator.” The old man stood up right in front of the commander, ignoring young Cewal’s discrete protest, facing him right in the eyes and saying: “I have been the curator of this museum for almost two hundred years, young man. If anyone should know where this art is to be taken, that should be me!”  
The soldier sighed.  
–The High Council of Time Lords of the entirety of Gallifreyan history now knows about the Time War. – he said.  
–Time War? – said the curator, certainly mocking the soldier – Is that how you’re calling it?  
–Not if we can win it. We have orders from the High Council to take the art with us, in our TARDIS. – The soldier was clearly getting tired.  
–TARDIS? You mean that old tin can of yours? – the curator continued talking in a rather stressed tone – Do me a favour, tell the High Council if they want to protect this art, they can pretty much put a gun in my hand. 

“That has already happened.” said Cewal, stepping outside the ancient time ship. That Cewal looked a lot older than the Cewal that was standing right beside the curator. “We gave you the gun, we gave you a time ship, and we gave you a good crew.” The curator was confused to hear a future version of his friend speak while the one that he knew was looking with a blank look on his face. “Cewal, what happened…?” he finally asked. Looking right at the younger version of himself, Cewal replied: “Either you let us take the art from the museum with us or a paradox will be created.” he said, in a serious and loud voice. 

Funny thing, time traveling, Eoropa always liked to say. “We always know what happened in the past, you see,” she said one night, sitting side by side with the curator on a bench inside the museum, “but that’s the thing: how can it have happened if we are able to change it?” The curator had indeed been to the Prydonian Academy, and knew the implications of time travel, but as time passed inside the lonely museum he decided to keep himself to the things that interested him, such as art and music, leaving bouncing around through time and space to those really worthy of the title Time Lord. “I once heard this one student, very young” he continued, “asking me why some of the paintings came from the future. I answered he was still very young, but one day would come to find that in our society, future and past and present are never quite fixed things, they just… well… they change.” He said, laughing at the end and capturing a glimpse at Eoropa’s rare smile. He took a deep breath and kept going: “the student however, said to me that the past was the past and the future was still a mistery. And it made sense to me at the time, when he said we could never know things for sure, because from our point of view, even though we are allowed to travel in time, things are still in the present.”  
Those were the things Eoropa remembered when the silence filled the air of the vast terrain outside the museum. Her eyes floated up, a yellow sky. The intense look of the curator at the older Cewal made she think of touching his old friend in the shoulder, see if he’d calm down, and as she reached out for him, a screeching sound burst out of thin air, making everyone grip to their guns. All of sudden of a dark blue vortex, just above the scene, jumped a machine that only slightly resembled a dalek. This one was different; it was nothing none of them had ever seen. Its egg shaped body was moving with sudden movements as the enormous spider-like legs moved and pierced the sand underneath it. “IN POSITION. I REPEAT. IN POSITION. SEEK THE ARTIFACT.” shouted the thing in a deep robotic voice. “MOVE!” Eoropa grasped to her gun and pushed the curator, which fell in the sand, out of the way. In a matter of seconds, both Eoropa’s and future Cewal’s troops were moving around and firing their laser guns at the enormous thing. 

As the head of the curator bumped in the sand, his eyes went blurry and his arms were suddenly paralyzed. For a moment all he could see were red and blue lights flying right above him. Another vortex opened. Another one. One, two and now three of those incredibly big machines arose out of nowhere, shouting “SEEK. LOCATE. DESTROY.” as they fired their big laser canons. He had only one thought in his brain: these monsters would not put their filthy paws on his art.  
 


	2. Smoke and Mirrors

He crawled inside as both gunfire sounds and screaming covered the sound around him. His hands and legs were shaking, as he got up and screamed for the troops to get inside. Without an answer, he continued to run to search for his gun, that was when Cewal got inside and closed the door.   
–Cewal, – he shouted – open the door!  
–I’m sorry sir, you have to go. – Cewal said, holding the curator’s right arm and making him run faster than he could.  
–What are you saying? We have to help the others!  
–Sir, I won’t let you die here. – Cewal said, as his future version burst opening the doors.   
–Cewal! Leave the curator be! – his older self said – he is not what you think he is!  
Both Cewal and the curator were confused by that statement, so they kept running, the old man already gasping. He closed the second door, locking the others on the outside, along with his future self and the monsters. “What did they mean by artifact?” He asked, in a rude tone, already shouting with the curator. The man, resting in a red chair right beside the door, confused to see sweet Cewal shouting like that, tried to explain. “They meant artefact.” he said, “They’re after a painting, said to have been one of the Artefacts of Rassilon, left here for me to take care.” he concluded. No answer came from Cewal.  
–Let’s take the time ship. – nervous Cewal said – Run away from here.  
–I suppose you’re right. – the curator got up, tired, his legs slowly shaking – But we have to go back, help the others.  
That said, a loud bump came from the door right behind them. “OPEN THE DOOR AT ALL COSTS.” The daleks had finally caught up with them. “SEEK THE ARTEFACT.” They looked at each other, frightened and started to run. “Do not open it! Take the time ship!” Screamed Eoropa, sounding like she was hurt. “Cewal! Do not thrust him! Come back!” That voice was now future Cewal’s, in a deep tone. Another explosion was heard and more Dalek screaming. “SEEK. LOCATE. CAPTURE.” They kept running and closed the third door, finally reaching the paintings room. The light of the yellow sky coming across the window made it look like all the frames were sparkling; although most of them needed cleaning for years of dust were cover. A great picture stood in the end of the great golden hall. It was of a man dressed in dark red robes, looking at what appeared to be a machine, in the distance, where one dressed in dark blue robes worked. The curator never had much of an interest in that picture. Cewal said he’d run to the time ship, while the curator should find a way to put the picture down. In a second the machine materialized beside the old man, gasping for air, removing the picture of the wall. “What’s it named?” asked Cewal. “Omega.” The curator answered.  
The ship was a tall thin golden cylinder, it appeared to be a Type 71 Time Capsule although the curator had never been much of an expert in time vessels, so it was not wise of him to try and guess. As he walked inside, while Cewal was carrying the painting, he was marveled by the size of it. It was an enormous hall, the walls covered in a light red light coming from what appeared to be circles. The center was where a big octagonal panel stood, and a transparent cylinder where circular bursts of light float inside. All sorts of buttons and levers were there, it should be a pretty difficult job, flying one of those, the curator thought to himself. Dark brown wooden handrail upfront the walls, making it look like the floor was floating whereas underneath a bright white light emanated. When he looked at the right side of the hall, he could see a small door that led to a corridor, and beside it there was a big window covering the entire wall, where he could see the hall of the museum. It was the first time the curator had ever been inside a time ship, and it amazed him how beautiful the thing was.  
“I can’t fly it without the others, but I guess I can put the shields up and take it to the front of the museum.” Cewal said, making the curator suddenly realize he’d heard explosions and gunfire that entire time. As the young soldier pressed some buttons, a sound that reminded the one of a drill began as the lights in the transparent cylinder began to get faster. Three light explosions of sound came from the thing as it went up and down rapidly, and when he looked at the window they were outside the museum, and everyone was still battling two of the enormous spider-like Daleks.   
Cewal reached for the curator’s hand and placed it on a blue stick-like lever, and said “This lever opens the door; you’ll have to pull it whenever I shout for your name.” The old man was nervous, cold sweat drops running on his wrinkled forehead. “I will go outside and find Eoropa, open the door only to my voice.” And the young soldier ran outside, firing his gun at the right same time. Explosions could be seen and each time something bumped into the ship it would tremble as the transparent cylinder in the panel emanated red bubbles of light inside. The curator kept his eyes on the window but that was when he looked at the painting, sitting on a chair in a corner. It was not out of interest, it was as if the painting was asking him to look. Both his hearts were beating like hammers and his hand shaking while holding the lever. That was when he heard it. “Open the door!” It was Cewal, and he immediately opened the door. The vision that struck his eyes when directing them to the door was of the older version of Cewal, dressed in ancient gallifreyan army uniforms, running towards him. He pointed the gun at the chest of the curator and when the old man, confused, looked at the soldier with tears in his eyes, a gun fire was heard. As that Cewal fell with eyes open in the floor, the young Cewal was standing right outside the door, paralyzed with the gun in his hand.  
 

“Cewal run!” was all the curator could shout, when he saw the big spider-like creature suddenly stand beside the soldier. “The golden lever!” Cewal screamed, as a chain like thing surrounded his torso “Pull the golden lever!” He shouted, as the thing pulled him inside its egg-shaped body. The curator closed the door. The curator puled the golden lever. The machine made the drill sound again. Three bursts of what sounded like gunshots again. The machine was gone. At the window, all he could see was Gallifrey. The ancient mighty planed was there in a second and it disappeared in the next. The curator fell on the floor and screamed.  
 


	3. Stuck in the middle.

When looking at the window, all that he could see were stars. The universe lived on as if nothing had happened in the past few hours when the old man, sitting in a chair facing the wall-size window was looking at the vastness of space. A couple of hours had passed when he heard behind him a strange sound. Something was moving. Slowly looking back, he could see Cewal still on the floor, reaching out for his gun. Even before he got off his the chair, Cewal was standing up and pointing the gun at him. His back was bleeding, and he did not say a word, only touched a few buttons on the panel and looked at the window. The drilling sound along with the three thuds went on again, as at the window a different scene was slowly appearing.  
–I thought I could avoid it, – said Cewal, his voice crackling – thought I could change the past but I couldn’t.  
–Why did you try to kill me? – asked the old man, with dry tears still in his face.  
–I could kill you right now, but there is no use. – Cewal then pulled something that looked like a computer screen, that was hanging from a black tube that came from the ceiling – Gallifrey is gone, I’m about to die, you might as well live on to.  
–What do you mean die? – he got up from the chair and slowly walked towards the panel – You’re going to regenerate.  
–I’ve no regenerations left. You don’t know what that is? Do you? – Cewal placed the gun in the old man’s chest – No, you have plenty of them left. Plenty of them.   
Blood came out of the soldier’s mouth as he fell. “You could’ve saved everyone. You could’ve saved me.” Those were Cewal’s last words. As the man cried holding his old friend in his arms he felt guilt, sadness and anger. But mostly shame. He was right, all that man had ever done was be a curator. He never ran into danger, never cared for anyone and never did anything to help others, especially if that meant risking his life. He was old, yes, about eight hundred years or something just as long, but he was still in the first of his thirteen lives. Unlike his friend, that in a second started to glow a bright yellow light. When his body vanished, the old man felt more alone than ever before. For the first time he was out of his planet. He did not know how to fly that ship, or where to go.   
But then something occurred to him: that painting. That ancient thing was again drawing his attention towards itself. He got up and went to the painting, which was still in the chair it had been placed before. He stood in front of it and even the ink looked strange, for a minute he could swear the painting was looking at him just as he was looking at it. He thought of punching the painting, but just when he was directing his fist in its direction, he suddenly didn’t want to. It was a strange feeling. He decided to keep the picture hidden somewhere in the ship, for safekeeping. 

 

Days passed before he even thought of touching the panel. About two minutes after the first corridor he found himself a kitchen, and after that, a room with a bed. One morning, when coming back to the panel, he typed a few random buttons, just to see what would happen. At the screen hanging from the ceiling, he could see a text popping up written in his home-planet’s written language. There were hundreds of black circles appearing going on and on spinning on a white background. When he made sense of it, finally there was something he could understand: it was an operating manual.   
He then spent hours reading the manual, pressing buttons and pulling levers. Slowly, he tried to make sense of the machine, even though it was designed to have six pilots, not only one. The computer explained the machine was a Type 71 Time Capsule, although the computer was calling it a TARDIS. That one specifically, was modified for the war, and as he soon found out, it had a single pilot command that should be easier to understand. He touched three buttons, and two small dark red chairs arose from a hole on the metal floor. “Sit.” Said a mechanical voice, and he sat on one of the chairs, which spinning on its own axis were taken up by big metal tubes. That panel was much simpler, and had a semi-circle right in front of where he was sitting. “That is the steering wheel, place one hand in it and the other in the lever that sits on the-…“ Of course he turned down the volume of the instructions. Things looked a lot simpler in that panel, made for only two people to pilot. He then typed what appeared to be random coordinates, his hands trembling as he was nervous thinking anything could go wrong.  
“Well, here goes nothing.” He said, as his hand pulled a big red lever on the panel. The drill sound began, that time more slowly than before, and a miniature of the transparent cylinder could be seen going up and down in the panel. One thud and suddenly the stars began to shake; the second thud took him to what appeared to be the time vortex. Blue and black and grey and white waves of time circled around him as he looked marveled at the vortex, for the first time since leaving Gallifrey he smiled. The third thud was loud and a bright white light surrounded the window and when he could finally open his eyes, the door on his left opened, and the voice of the machine said. You’ve reached your destination: Galactic Quadrant 5, Holiday Planet Dronid.   
 


	4. Stylo

It fascinated him how many different people of different species were right in front of his eyes. He had never seen so many colors and shapes and sounds united in harmony on a single place. It was enormous, full of the most funny and beautiful creatures walking and running around, taking photographs with the most various machines and laughing and smiling. The sky was a beautiful light lilac color and by the time he returned to himself, a loud sound was coming from behind him and his golden cylinder.  
A loud horn was in the air and when he slowly looked behind the ship, a short man, goldish green-skinned, with something that resembled a speaker in the place where a mouth would normally be, shouted “Hey grandpa! Take that bloody thing of yours out of here! I’m trying to sell toys here.” When looking around, all he could see were strange things of all shapes and sizes, some resembling spaceships, other resembling big guns, but somehow looking harmless. “I’m sorry; I’ll move it somewhere else!” He said, giggling a little by the end. The man went inside the store, and he came back to the time ship. “Well if I knew how to at least…” A few lines suddenly started to appear in the small screen that was in the right side of the panel, while yellow and red and green squares popped up and disappeared rapidly in the front window, looking like they were recognizing the toys in the salesman’s yard.   
PLANET: Dronid.   
CONNECTION TO GALLIFREYAN HISTORY: Yes.  
SPECIES IDENTIFIED: Many.  
Words popped up and disappeared very fast, making impossible for his tired eyes to read. “Well what are you planning now, old thing?” he asked. Suddenly the screen stopped, went black and a strange wheeled black thing started to circle the screen. When looking at it, the old man knew he had seen that same thing in the salesman’s yard a minute ago, but he never paid that much attention to it. “THIS SHIP RECOMMENDS CAMMOUFLAGE.” It said. “MOST OF THIS PLANET IS HABITATED BY HU-MANS NATIVE OF PLANET TE-RRA” It said in a strange metallic voice. “Terra…?” He asked, very confused. “STANDARD HU-MAN TRANSPORTING SHIP IDENTIFIED. COMMENCE CHAMELEON CIRCUIT’S ACTIVATION?” The ship responded. “Chameleon Circ—Well yes then, I guess so.” He answered, with both his hands holding firmly to the ship’s steering wheel. A squeaking sound began and suddenly the door beside him was changing its size. The panel also suffered a few changes but kept its strangely big number of buttons and levers. The Window began to shrink and he was terrified, but suddenly everything stopped and a calm beep sounded out of nowhere. “STEP OUTSIDE TO FINISH CAMMOUFLAGE.” He heard. The now small and strange shaped door opened, and when he looked back at the ship, it looked just liked the one in the big yard behind. “NINETEEN SIXTY NINE’S CHEVROLET CAMARO CAMMOUFLAGE NOW COMPLETED.” The ship said.


	5. Worn Out Blues

It took him about seven minutes to get the car started. Another seven to learn that it was now something he could drive around not suddenly transporting himself in time and space. Two or three to learn that nobody seemed to pay attention to it and half an hour to learn exactly where he was. Dronid: the top holiday destination of Galactic Quadrant 5. Of course he knew the ancient history of the planet and its dark connection to Gallifrey, but now that mattered to no one. Everyone was there to have fun. Beautiful anti-gravity rides could be seen floating in the sky above enormous amusement parks and multi-colored swimming pools full of the most amazing creatures made it look like water was the most fun thing in the universe. Children of all sizes ran around and balloons floated in the hands of their parents. No one seemed to be unhappy on that planet, no one. The old man himself smiled as he saw blue-skinned big-headed kids shooting each other with water pistols and making strange sounds with what resembled mouths. Robots and droids were also in the streets and seemed to be there not only as help to the costumer but also as visitors to the planet’s many attractions. It was truly a wonderful place and it made the old man think of finally leaving grief behind for a second and taking his old legs for a spin.   
As soon as he parked the car by the side of the road, a small pole arose from the ground and placed a ticket in his hand. “Thank you.” He said. “Do NOT forget where you parked.” Suddenly the pole said. “That sort of thing seems to keep happening...” It continued as it went back down to beneath the ground. Not five seconds after he started to walk the pole arose from the ground again, right in front of him although he was already a few steps away from the car. “This unity also recommends you buy some clothes, as yours seem to be made for more intense climates.” and went back down. That made him realize he was wearing his gallifreyan robes, but the pole didn’t seem to notice that. He went back to the car and typed a few buttons, a silvery-metal card arose from a hole in the panel. He exited the car again, but the pole came back once more. “This unity also detected you’re now in possession of an amazing value of money. Would you like to know where to spend it?” It asked, seeming a little taller than before. “No thank you, I’ll figure it out myself.” The man said. 

Ice cream machines, candy-spitting robots, balloons of enormous proportions and stores from the most amazing architecture: everything amazed him. Not much time passed and when exiting a clothing store, he was now ready to walk around the beautiful planet. He wore a light grey stripped shirt, with long sleeves and the sign of a little rocket on the chest. His pants were of a light blue and green sandals were in his feet. His robes were stored in a brown leather bag he carried hanging from his left shoulder, and although his body was old, he felt happy and full of energy. He cleaned his small glasses and said out loud “Where’s that bloody pole-thing when I need it?” and all of sudden he heard the metallic voice answer:  
–The bloody thing is here, kind sir.” – in a sarcastic tone of voice.   
–Well I’d like to see an art museum. – He said.   
–Well that’s a request we never seem to get.” – A buzzing sound started and a paper was printed from the pole. – Follow the map and it will take you to Dronid’s art museum, you strange man.   
–Thanks! – He said, looking down at the map.   
–Anything else? – The pole asked. The old man was then silent, still looking at the map. When he looked up again his glasses shined a little.   
–I am a Time Lord. – He said, but the pole was silent still.  
–Well good for you. – It said, as it went back to the ground.   
The old man was bugged after that reaction, but decided to keep going and to find the museum. The immense white building covered in windows was in a rather empty place in the planet. It was no surprise for him, deep down he knew that people would much rather go to a fishing competition or a robot-fight show than to visit an art’s museum; but he was happy anyway, because art was the thing loved the most.  
The museum had an enormous amount of the strangest things hanged on its walls. Most of it didn’t even seem like it was made of ink. Some were metal, some were holograms. The expression on his face was of one that had drunk a terrible drink; he did not at all like what he saw. But then it struck him. Across the main hall, a medium sized picture of a blue box was hanged just above a bench. That one caught his eyes and led him to go in quick steps towards it. It was simple, oil on canvas, very old, but it was pretty. Rain was falling in an alley where it was dark if not for a dim light that shined from the top of the blue box. Its windows were yellow and a sign over them read in shining white letters “POLICE BOX”.   
“That’s my favorite.” He heard a beautiful voice coming from behind, and then looked, to see a young lady coming towards him. “Would you like an explanation?” She asked. “Oh, that would be much appreciated, yes.” He said. “It’s one of the first pieces that came to us, around fifty years ago, when the museum first opened. Its author’s one Vincent Van Gogh, from planet Earth.” She smiled. “I take it you’re the curator.” He asked. “Oh yes, yes I’m sorry. I’m Eken, I’m a native from Drornid.” She said. He looked back at the painting, in silence. “What is it? The blue box I mean.” He asked. “Well that’s the thing no one seems to know. Vincent himself died thousands of light-years ago, so there’s no way to ask him.” She said, in a sad tone. “Well we could go there and ask him.” He said, smiling. She laughed and was silent for a moment. “I’m serious.” He said, smiling again. “You see, I’m a Time Lord from Gallifrey.” She undid her smile and said with a confused expression: “I’m sorry… I never heard of it. It’s not on my data base.” And that made the old man’s smile fade away too. He looked back at the painting with a blank expression in his face. “Well that’s very sad isn’t it?” He said.  
–I always wanted it to be mine, that one. – The girl said, trying to shake off that silence. – It sort of stands out from the rest of the art. It seems much more…  
–Alive. – He said, looking back at her. – Say, you said data base. You’re an android?  
–I’m a cyborg. I was born a native from Drornid but updated my brain for one with a hard drive when I started working here three years ago. – she said, not knowing why he wanted to know about her.  
–Why do you say you wanted it for yourself? Doesn’t art belong in an art museum? – He asked, sitting in the bench.  
–The way I see, art belongs with however can offer it real love. – She sat beside him. – That’s not just oil and canvas and the wood from the frame, that’s Vincent’s feelings, be him however he was.   
He was looking at her the entire time. Her lips were big and of a vivid red, and they moved like waves of ink when slowly spread by a brush. Her skin was dark and it shined beautifully in the white light of the great hall, and as a small breeze passed them, her long black wavy hair slowly moved with grace. – It shouldn’t be here in this empty museum with those strange things the others hang on these walls. – She finished.   
–How about we steal it? – He asked, getting back on his feet.  
–What? – She shouted. – No! That would not be possible, no.  
–Well why not? He asked, grabbing the painting by the wooden frame. – See it’s so light I could carry it on my briefcase myself.   
–Sir! – She held his right arm. – I will politely ask you to stop.  
–Ask then. – He answered, calmly.  
–What?  
–You said you would ask me to stop!  
–Alright then! – She let go of his arm and crossed hers. – Stop!  
–No. – He said, taking the picture off the wall and walking away as quick as he could.   
–SIR! – She shouted. – Completely confused and already angry. – I will have to call the authorities!  
–Eken! – He grabbed her hand. – Don’t you want to know who Vincent was? – But just when his feet stepped outside the front door, still holding the painting under his left arm, a loud beeping sound went off as sirens came from the speakers on the street poles.   
–Take it back inside! – She pulled him by the hand.   
–Now why would I do that? – He continued to walk, seeming almost too strong for the age he appeared to have. – Those things are not art! This is art and it belongs on a real museum!  
In a matter of seconds an enormously tall black cylinder descended from the sky and craved four metal legs in the ground. – What the blazes is that? – Asked the man, tightly holding Eken’s hand.   
–That would be the authorities. – She answered, already pulling him to the left side of the door. – Let’s go to the back, I have a hoverbike.   
–Well I guess we’re stealing this then. – He laughed, stepping harder and as fast as he could.   
–I’m saving your life you old fool!   
“THIS IS THE DRORNID POLICE. WE SUGGEST YOU REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE.” said a loud mechanized voice, coming from one of the cylinder speakers. Already getting on the hoverbike, Eken shouted back: “We would rather not, thank you!” As he holding the painting laughed behind her. “I like you Eken, you seem funny to be around.” He said, sitting down as she placed a small red helmet on his head. “Hell, what am I doing?” She said, and placed both her hands on the handlebars. A hovering sound was in the air and wind came from under the hoverbike. Dust arose from everywhere and the thing was fast to go away from the museum. From the police’s ship, three black hoverbikes much bigger and more intimidating than Eken’s were coming out and soon after the two art thieves. As she avoided every vehicle in the streets the police did the same almost as if they knew where she was going. That’s when she realized she did not.   
“WHERE ARE WE GOING, OLD MAN?” She shouted, so the sound of her voice would be louder from the sound of the streets. “WELL I HAVE A TARDIS!” he said. “A WHAT?” she asked. “IT’S A CAR. A CAMARO I THINK.” He shouted back. She accelerated and made a turn to the left, outsmarting the police behind her, that till she heard a laser gun fire from the distance, and a laser shot fly missing them for only some centimeters. “Dammit.” She thought to herself. One of them was still after her hoverbike and quickly catching up. “WHAT WILL WE DO WITH A CAR? WE NEED A PLACE TO HIDE!” She shouted once more. “JUST, GET THERE, WILL YA?” He said, sounding a little tired, his voice cracking a bit. “IT’S RIGHT AROUND THAT CORNER!” He pointed, and as fast as the wind the girl turned and the police’s bike crashed into a blue small sized spaceship. “Yes!” She said happily, and continued to accelerate.   
When they finally arrived at the car, the old man went to behind it and opened the trunk. It was empty, as if complete void was there when you looked at it. Gasping for air he said:  
–Go ahead. – pointing to inside the trunk. – Put it here.  
Of course she was confused, but he appeared to have something good in him, and she trusted him right from the start so she just did without asking any questions. The big and heavy hoverbike fit in the trunk like it was the simplest thing, making Eken confused second after second. He quickly went to the right door and opened it, pointing it so she would get inside and she did, not realizing that a tall police officer in a grey armor wearing a black helmet in the shape of a rhinoceros’ head was running on foot towards them.   
The old man was placing the key in the door when she finally saw the thing pointing its gun at the old man. “GET INSIDE!” She shouted as the officer fired. The old man was struck right between his ribs. He got inside. The door closed. The windows went black. “Well that was quite an adventure, wasn’t it?” His voice was failing, he was breathing through his mouth. She was quiet; her skin now had lost all color as she had both eyes wide open. He placed his left hand on the steering wheel. And as his arms shacked and a painful expression was in his face he placed the right hand on the red lever and said, gasping: “You're in for a treat.”  
He tried his best to pretend nothing was happening, the panel along with both seats slowly going down on a circular movement. They were now in the big main hall, the big window showing the street where they were and the big rhinoceros police officer trying to shoot the car. An octagonal panel full of buttons with a transparent cylinder connected to black tubes coming from the ceiling was across the room and the girl perplexed by everything went down from the seat. “Its…” she couldn’t find the words. “It’s dimensionally transcendental…” he said. “What does that mean?” She asked, her legs shaking. “It means…” He went down the seat and placed both hands on his knees. “It means it’s bigger on the inside…” He fell.   
As she ran back to help him, a slow wheezing started as the cylinder on the panel went up and down, the black tubes pumping some kind of liquid into it. “Help me get there, would you?” He asked, his voice almost fading away. She got him back on his feet and took him to the octagonal-shaped panel, where he placed his hands. She wouldn’t keep her eyes off of his, looking rather sad. She placed one of her hands upon one of his, and asked if he would be alright. “Well I suppose I will. I knew that would happen…” His skin started to shine a bright yellow light. “You go out to have a nice time once in two hundred years and there we go.”   
An explosion sound was loud in the room as the cylinder was up and down faster and faster. The tubes were pumping one after the other and the light coming from his skin was shining brighter every second. A second explosion came from the panel as sparks came from it. The third explosion was the loudest, and the cylinder went almost all the way down, pulling every tube along with it, a lever went down without even being touched and suddenly the light was out. Eken was breathing heavily as she finally looked at the old man’s face. Only to see he was not the man from before anymore.   
 


	6. By blindness you're driven insane

Cewal could hardly see anything in front of him. It was a dark room, he was tied to something, a wall maybe, his hands wouldn’t move and every time he tried to move his legs it was like they were burning. He screamed for the curator’s name and for Eoropa’s but all he could hear were the menacing daleks. Sparks fell from the ceiling all the time as little explosions and drilling sounds could be heard. The sound of the daleks teleportation vortex opening and closing all the time was there also. That was the stuff of nightmares he’d heard about. Whenever the sparks fell, creating a short moment of clarity for his vision, he could see bodies of Time Lords in the floor, also tied to the wall by their hands. Not to mention those bodies that were of completely different species, like the dead sontaram that was already more bone than flesh and the two judoon that still had blood in them. Truly the stuff of nightmares.  
“YOU WILL EXPLAIN THE OLD MAN’S WHEREABOUTS!” said a black dalek, getting too close to Eoropa’s face, while she sat on a chair with her arms tied to her back. She spit on the daleks eye. She could still see her gun, it was on a table across the room, along with a couple of what looked like dalek canons and her communicator. She wasn’t dumb, she’d set the thing to notice the high command hours before she’d been captured, but now hope was the only thing she could rely on. “EXPLAIN WHERE THE ARTEFACT IS!” repeated the Dalek. An explosion could be heard in the distance prior to him completing that sentence. “You’ve heard that?” She asked. “EXPLAIN OR THERE WILL BE TORTURE!” he added. Another explosion, dalek screams could also be heard. She remained silent; trying to hear what was going on. A strange loud sound could be heard, like an instrument playing. Yes it was an instrument, playing something loud. Something electric. She’d heard about that, way back in the day, at the Academy. Yes, that was music. That was heavy metal.  
“I’m looking for Commander Eoropa!” Said the man; constantly firing his gun and missing not one dalek. His dirty leather jacket waved as fire ran across the rooms of the museum. “WHAT IS THAT CONFUSING SOUND?” screamed one of the big spider-like daleks, spinning around in the room, running almost too confused to shoot. “Oh that? That’s Blind Guardian’s Battlefield! I’m quite fond of it…” he fired the gun at the thing as it exploded into hundreds of pieces. “Don’t you like it?” Wind was coming through the roles the monsters had pierced into the museums walls. Sand was coming inside as a storm raged in the clouds of the orange sky. His long brown hair was shaking and an almost terrifying smile was placed on his face shooting the big gun. “Eoropa! Respond! Commander Eoropa!” he shouted once more.  
“I’M HERE!” she responded, as the dalek taking care of her crossed the door, leaving it open as he screamed “REPORT WHAT IS HAPPENING!”. In his cell, Cewal was trying his best to shout too. “I’m here! Take me out of here!” he screamed but the pitch dark room seemed almost impossible to be heard. “WHO ARE YOU?” Eoropa shouted, her lungs burning, her hands bleeding as the handcuffs hurt them with movement. “WELL, WHO INDEED!” said the man, laughing. He stomped and ran with leather boots on his feet; each movement had the grace of a cold breeze but the violence of hellfire. His eyes reflected each shot, shining bright while daleks exploded everywhere. The music still playing loud in the distance, and that seemed to amuse him.   
He finally arrived at the room where Eoropa was. Not a single dalek could be heard anymore. He stopped, looked around pointing the gun at his front before going in. He then put it down, looked at her and smiled. A red scarf hanged on his neck, going down and almost reaching his legs. It was dirty and ashy, just like the brown pants and claret vest that he wore. Ash residue and sweat was in his face, his hands were almost too grey, his laser-gun still had smoke coming out from it. “Hello, I’ve come to rescue you.” He said.   
Took both of them about ten minutes to find the room where Cewal was. They took him out of there, limping on his left leg. His face had several wounds on it, and his left eye seemed to be in pretty bad shape. He was quiet all the way through the museum, looking down at the dalek waste that laid on the floor. Hundreds of paintings destroyed, fire everywhere. It was dark outside, making it clear that the place where the strange young man that had rescued them had arrived; was clearly the big blue box with a blue light coming from the windows. When they got inside, it was enormous. Bookshelves on the walls, with many of the books fallen on the floor. Candles were lit everywhere as the light was very low. Over the main door, the Seal of Rassilon, the ancient symbol of the Time Lords could be seen, imprinted on a big piece of the wall. Metal columns surrounded the console, which shined in a dim blue light as itys insides went up and down. “That’s the strangest time capsule I’ve ever seen.” Said Cewal. “Oh please, be kind. She’d prefer TARDIS.” said the man, pressing buttons on the console. “Sure it’s a bit messy; I’ll change the theme sooner or later.” He added, gently tapping the console with his right hand.   
“I’m to take you two back to the High Council.” He said, the TARDIS making a loud groaning as it dematerialized. “Would you like a cup of tea?” He added. “Tea?!” said Eoropa, almost angry. “Well I was just asking…” he pressed a couple more buttons and moved over to the screen. The groaning stopped. The door opened. “We’re here.”  
When all the three got down, medical assistants came soon to help Eoropa and Cewal. The Doctor seemed quiet. “Doctor” said one of the Time Lords entering the great white hall. “Please, no Doctor.” he said, getting his hair out of his eyes. “You will go after the curator, then?” said the old man, he wore white robes and golden props.   
–No, I won’t. – said the warrior, getting back to the door of his TARDIS.  
–Well, but you have to help us! – added the man.  
–I was never a slave to the High Council and you know that. – He stepped out once more, pointing his finger at the man’s face. – I wasn’t when we were in peace and I won’t be now that we are at war.  
He went back to the TARDIS, standing at the door and stopping for a second. He looked at Eoropa and Cewal, sad were the eyes of both soldiers.   
–Those artifacts only bring us tragedy; it’s all they’ve done since the days of Rassilon. – His voice was louder than before. – This war will destroy everything, daleks and time lords alike.   
–We have plans to use the artefacts in our favor. – The member of the High Council moved over, closer to the young man. – We have plans to bring back ancient warriors whose minds have been in the Matrix for far too long. Rassilon himself shall be with us again.   
That made his face change. His kind look was now a dangerous expression, his eyebrows forced to the middle of his face and his mouth closed really tight. – Good. – He said. – You won’t need me around here. – He went inside the TARDIS and the wheezing groaning sound started as it finally disappeared. 

The member of the High Council put a serious expression on his face, and looked at the soldiers at the back of the room. Commander Eoropa, Private Cewal, you’ve been reassigned. You are no longer part of the Gallifreyan Frontline Troops. “What?!” Eoropa said, very loud. “You two have been responsible for the disappearance of the Omega painting.” He said, very loud and angry. Both soldiers were quiet, but Cewal was shaking as Eoropa looked at him, confused. “The curator of the museum took the painting with him outside of the planet on a TARDIS.” He added. Cewal suddenly interrupted. “He…” words seemed to be hard for him to say. “He was too old, he couldn’t fly that ship. He must be dead by now.” That last line came to him as a painful one. “That was his first body out of thirteen.” said the councilman. That line hurt Cewal even more. “He… had not regenerated? He could’ve come back?” said Cewal, looking down. “Cewal, he didn’t know how to fly it.” said Eoropa. “It’s a time machine!” He shouted, blood oozing from his mouth. “He’d have hundreds, thousands of years to come back so why didn’t him?” he continued to shout. “He stole the painting and ran away to never come back.” replied the councilman. “Therefore he is now a renegade.” He walked over to a big screen that was on the left side of the room. An image of the curator when he was younger appeared, his hair not so white, but greyish. Cewal looked at him with hate burning in his eyes. “Will you find him?” said the councilman. “You can bet the war that we will.” Cewal answered.  
 


	7. Jungle Drum

No, that was not him. It couldn’t be. That one was younger, much younger, A little bit taller but not so much, but definitely not him, she thought. He was quiet. “Who…” She started, as he gazed at her with his big round brown eyes. “Who are you?” He looked down again, quiet still. His hair was brown and wavy, almost long, it stopped by his neck. His skin was white, whiter than the old man’s one. And god, was he skinny. A strange figure, if not to say curious. “Who are you?” She asked again, in a louder voice. He looked at her and showed her his tong. She was outraged by that. He did not even answer the question; he just showed the tong and looked down at the console again. Showing your tong was an outrageous act in Dronid, almost too offensive for anyone. She looked at his clothes, they were the same that the old man was wearing, and he was standing exactly where he used to be, so she put one and one together and started to cogitate that he could indeed be the old man.  
In his brain, things were all a bit too vague. In the cylinder going up and down in front of him, he suddenly noticed his face and bent over a little to see it closer. “Good grief…” he finally said. “What?” She said, moving closer to him again. “Look at the nose…” he completed. Eken was starting to run out of patience. “I thought it was something to do with the car.” She said, looking at the cylinder. “And what sort of car is that anyway?” She asked.  
–Not a car. – He said, walking over to the screen that was at the other side of the console. – At least not here.  
–What do you mean?  
–Up there – he pointed at the hole where the panel with the two seats went before – it is a car, but in here it is a TARDIS.  
–TARDIS? – Eken asked, confused.  
–Time And Relative Dimension In Space. – said a girl’s voice coming from the screen. – Don’t know who that is but she must be right, all Time Lords started calling those things TARDIS. – he said.  
–You keep saying Time Lord. – She moved a little bit too close to his face – Is that what you are?  
–I suppose I am. Yes… Gallifrey… – He seemed confused, looking at a distant point in the scene. – It… disappeared.  
–Oh. – She noticed how sad he suddenly looked. – I see. I’m sorry.  
–Well it was indeed a bit boring. – He ran to the other side of the console. His pants seemed a little bit too big for his size, as he had to hold them with one of his hands as the other was busy with buttons. – Say, this computer thing say there’s a wardrobe about five minutes from here. – He was pointing at a corridor just across the room. – Let’s go there, shall we?  
–Well if I go back that police officer will arrest me so sure I’m already a thief why not put on a disguise. – She joked. He didn’t laugh.   
The corridors seemed way too long, but she was not that dumb. She was fully aware that technologies that could fit entire other dimensions inside a room were at some point discussed, she was just impressed because she’d never been inside one. The walls were all covered in circles and a dim red light emanated from them. He was silent all the time, and it was a few minutes till she could notice a strange drumming sound.   
“What is that sound?” She asked. “That would be my hearts.” He said, turning to a door on the left. “Old things seem a bit perky after the regeneration.” he said, almost too calm for her taste. “Regeneration… so that’s what happened. You changed appearance!” she said, fully aware she had cracked the code. “Yes, I didn’t have the time to think it over unfortunately…” he stopped, looking at two doors. “All a bit too sudden.” and went to the one in the right. “Here it is: the wardrobe!” and opened a brown wooden door. “It is surprisingly small.” He said. It was surprisingly small, like a normal wardrobe would be. He grabbed an old jeans overall that seemed to fit him and started changing right there, Eken turned around pretending she didn’t see anything.   
–Alright then! – He said, very satisfied with his rocket shirt and jeans overall. He was bare feet for some reason. – Where were we going before the fuss?  
–Don’t pretend you don’t remember, grandpa! – She said, sticking her right fist to his chest, with a weak friendly punch. – We were running away from the police!  
–Oh yes! – He turned around. – Judoon they were, weren’t them? – Alright them, let’s go back. We have to find Vincent!  
 


	8. Sleep the Clock Around

It was fast, the car. And suddenly there was no police officer, just the fuss that was the vortex they were in, and suddenly the car bumped into something, and all they could see was a field full of yellow flowers. The boy was laughing loud with both hands on the steering wheel, but Eken had a headache and felt the sudden need to vomit. She opened the door and did so, he felt the fresh air and let himself fall on top of the flowers, looking at the blue sky full of white clouds.   
–Oh my! So this is Earth! – His eyes shined, his arms were up and down in the flowers. – Look at that sky, it’s amazing!  
Eken rested her arms on the top of the car, looked around and finally said. – Thought you could drive this thing! – She said in a loud tone.   
–Fly, my dear Eken! It flew! Through the time vortex! We are exactly where Vincent Vin Hog lives!   
–Van Gogh!  
–What?  
–His name is Vincent Van Gogh! – She threw herself by his side, in the confortable bed that were the huge amount of flowers, the 1969’s Camaro at their feet. – So this is a time machine, then? – She asked.  
–Yes it is. – He looked at her. – A Gallifreyan Time Capsule, Type 71 Mark III, modified for the war. – Of course he wasn’t sure of any of that information.   
He promised to tell her about Gallifrey, but first they had to ask Vincent Himself what was the thing in the painting. Not realizing where they were, but most importantly, when they were, the strange figures walked around 1890’s France. Everyone was looking at them, completely different clothes they wore, him with that overall and a shirt with a rocket, she with a dark-red kind of silvery jumpsuit. “I guess we should’ve changed clothes, don’t you think?” She asked, her cheeks red caused by all the attention she drew. “Non-sense, we look beautiful.” He replied.   
They asked for information on one Vincent Van Gogh, and no one seemed to like or have anything to do with the man. One bar lady explained that Vincent had passed away a couple weeks before, to which both time travelers were very sad to hear. She explained them that his house still had some of the old furniture, for not a single person wanted anything to do with him.   
“So… it’s a Time Machine, let’s just go back a few days from now, right?” Eken asked. He explained that the ship was a little more complicated to fly, that he was not even trained to do it, let alone on his own. So they decided to go see what Vincent was up to before he died. Still getting lots of looks, Eken wanted to hide, but the boy waved at every strange old person that was looking at them. “I have data for that sort of species in my hard drive, I’m telling you, and we should’ve changed clothes!” She said. “What will they do? Arrest us for being stylish?” He joked.   
Vincent’s house was dark, wooden planks at the windows, the door sealed by spiked nails. Dead wallflowers were everywhere in the yard, truly a sad view, and it reminded him of the war. He had a distant look and stopped for a second, remembering Eoropa. His thoughts were still a bit vague, but everything was coming back like a shock to his brain.  
“Ouch!” said Eken. He returned to himself. “Are you alright?” He asked. “I feel strange… I can’t quite describe it but my head hurts and my skin tickles.” She said. “Well I’m sure it’s nothing, we’ll just see if we find any answer and we’ll go back to the car.” He said, but that argument was no longer valid for a second later he noticed he was a few steps back, and heard again the “Ouch!” from before. “Are… you alright?...” He asked, feeling strange. “I feel strange… I can’t quite describe it but my head hurts and my skin tickles.” said Eken, again. He looked up, clouds moving, wind passing by, moving slowly. “Talk about déjà vu!” he said out loud. She didn’t reply, for she was already getting used to the strangeness of her friend.   
When they opened the door the room was full of dust. The bed was made and two or three paintings were around. Eken was marveled by them. Touching and feeling the ink on the canvas, she felt more alive than she ever did at her home planet. The Time Lord, on the other hand, was acting a little bit strange. He was moving slowly, as if he was being careful not to damage something. “What’s up with you?” the girl asked. “It’s… the time…” he said, moving his hands in the air. “Time is strange here, as if it suffered from a recent event.” he sat on the bed. “We Time Lords perceive time differently, time here has been altered, Vincent was up to something.” He said, still moving his hands through the air.   
While he spoke, Eken noticed something was glued on the wall, a piece of paper. In it, a drawing done in pencil of the same blue box that was on the painting. “Look at this!” she said. “It’s a letter.” He started to read the paper and it said:

“My dear Doctor,  
After being on a journey to the future of you and Amy, and oh, my dear friends, how I thank you for that gift; time started passing slowly for me. Every day seemed like a never-ending sea of despair that repeated itself in the end, as if knowing too much had taken me to a place where sin was to be paid for. This letter is for you, Doctor, you, Amy and your TARDIS.   
Thank you for all,  
Vincent.”

“TARDIS!” he shouted. “He wrote about a TARDIS!” he jumped from the bed. “So?” she replied, a little curious. “How could Vincent remember what a TARDIS is if not by seeing one? No one seems to remember Gallifrey, only Vincent!” he was walking in circles, holding the letter in front of his eyes. “There is another one! Another Time Lord still out there!” He stopped and looked at Eken, smiling, his new young eyes shining. “The box is his TARDIS!” she smiled too. “But that must be why time feels so wrong in here…” he said, moving around again. “This Doctor took Vincent to the future, a lot of residual time energy must’ve been left here.” He stopped. “Enough to drive someone crazy…” Suddenly a knock on the door was heard. They didn’t say anything, but the door opened anyway. A police officer was standing there, a tall, fat man, with a big moustache on his face. “What are you two up to?” he said, looking directly at Eken. “I told you, we should’ve changed clothes.” Eken said, nervous. “I’m an artist! This is my assistant, Eken.” (Eken didn’t at all like being called an assistant, but decided to go with it); he said, folding the letter and putting it on the chest-pocket of the overall, moving over to shake the officer’s hand. “We’ve come to retrieve the amazing works of Vincent Von Log!” he said. “Van Gogh?” the policeman replied. “Exactly.” He finished.   
As they talked Eken noticed a door on the back. Grabbing one of Vincent’s paintings that were in the room she walked slowly, looking at her friend and the policeman. She then ran. When he noticed her friend running, the Time Lord ran too, laughing out loud. The policeman started to run, but decided he was far too old and too fat to be chasing young strange artists.   
When they slowed down they were both laughing, she carefully placed the painting on the ground and the boy hugged her. That came as a surprise, as he shouted “WE ARE NOT ALONE!” to the air. Looking in his eyes that seemed the happiest eyes in the world she asked “We?” with a smile on her face. “We’re a team, me and you, aren’t we?” he asked her. “I don’t even know your name, grandpa.” She said. “Oh yes…” he said that with a sad expression on his face, opening his arms and letting go of the tight warm hug he gave her. “I don’t think I should use my name…”  
In reality, it had been more than a hundred years since he last heard his name. Even before Eoropa and the others arrived, all he was called was “curator” and that never bothered him, no one even cared for his name and that was fine. But not anymore: Now he needed a name, he had someone to call for his name and that came to him as a surprise. “You see… I was the curator.” He started to walk, a distant look on his face. She grabbed the picture on the ground and in little jumps catch up with him. “You used to be a curator too? In Gallifrey?” she asked, surprised. “Yes, of an immense art museum… before the war…” he said, looking down. She noticed how sad he was and decided it was up to her to cheer him up. “You don’t look like a curator to me.” She said, rising his chin with her hand. “Oh yes? What do I look like to you?” he smiled and asked. “An artist.” She said. The calm breeze passed as they didn’t seem to notice, but night was coming and a couple of stars were already shining. “The Artist.” He said and smiled. He then hugged her again, and now she hugged him back. 

 

When she came to understand what she’d got herself into, Eken decided that her life back at home was never much fun to begin with. She sat beside the console one morning, holding a cup of tea, and watched as the Artist painted the cosmos watching through the TARDIS’ window. “How old are you?” she asked. He was quiet for a minute, thinking. “About eight hundred, I think.” He said and she went blank. “I’m twenty three…” she said to herself. “How old are you?” He asked. “I’m twenty three!” She said, happy he’d asked.   
“Would you like to stay?” he asked, finally turning around to look at her, his face with a few marks of blue ink in his left cheek. “I already have a room!” Eken answered and smiled. He smiled back. The next morning she woke up to see fields of tall blue grass outside the window. The scanner’s screen indicated it was cold outside, so she put on a blue coat that was hanging on a coat hanger side by side with an art stand.   
Outside, the Artist was breathing cold into a small white square placed between his hands. His eyes closed and his mouth only slightly open, enough to let air through making a low whistle sound. Eken sat on the car’s driver’s seat and stood there looking at him, quiet. He raised his arms, the square shining a little, like it was a light bulb. It then arose, floating into thin air, slowly disappearing while still shining. “What was that?” she asked as soon as he got up. “A distress signal.” He gently tapped the legs of his overall to let out the grass. “Time is vast and space is big, but if this Doctor manages to stay a little bit longer in a single place, they’ll get my signal that there’s more than one Time Lord still alive.” He smiled a little at the end.   
Alone, certain that he was the last of his kind, somewhere in the vastness of the universe, there was a man, never settling in, never stopping, always running.


End file.
